You Better: A one shot fic
by Meg28
Summary: After the whole 'truth' to the tabloid ordeal is revealed, Gwen is confronted by someone. A short, one shot fic.


**You Better: a one-shot fanfic.**

"I've heard the _rumours_."

He teased her with his choice of words. Yes, he had heard it all before. It was years ago. So long ago it had occurred. Only now was the truth known and the source of its previous lacking. She bottled up her scheme flawlessly. No one suspected her, except one. But that one was painted for her wildness and desperate ideologies. She always found a way to blame others for her mistakes. Nonetheless, the accusations were right this time.

He stood behind her, as she scrubbed her hands carefully. She was avoiding his look, his judgement. Even with the lack of communication and expressions being exchanged, she was well aware that he knew the truth. Continuously she lathered her hands in the sink, watching the foam rising below. Just like his rage. He could not take anymore of the silence. She could sense this as well.

"Look at me, you siren. You had us all fooled with your sweetness. All this time you made us blame another for your own errors of judgement and mistakes. Oh, the pain you have inflicted. And lies. How many lies has it caused, Gwen? How many lives have been destroyed?"

He was wrong. It wasn't that way at all. She never meant to hurt anyone. It hadn't even been her initial disposition to 'win' Ethan back. It was hard to accept that fateful day her childhood sweetheart chose another to marry. And she wasn't ready to move on. But she tried to. She awoke everyday to the blossoming love they spread. A framed photograph of him was by her bedside. She too was captured in the frame, embracing him and grinning to a world that seemed so simple back then. But that was the only image of Ethan she had. Time would have let her move on.

He shook her and she blinked furiously. He demanded answers. An explanation of some sort. Something that would make sense. But she was too scared to move. Too scared to stop him from banging her into a wall. His flesh dug into her. The longer the silence spread, the more severe the pain of his hands were. She wondered if afterwards, curiously, his fingers would leave an imprint on her.

"Speak! I dare you! Why do you insist on saying nothing?"

Again he found himself shaking her. She would not respond. His emotions were fuming recklessly. The image of Ethan echoed in his mind, of when Julian thought he was his son. They were at Crane Industries one day. Julian was sitting at his desk, signing various legal documents. And there, on tip toes, Ethan observed his father working. His hands were sticky from a lollipop he had eaten before. As a result, various papers on the desk got stuck to his fingers and had left little traces of candy. Julian cursed the imprints, but cherished them later, long after Ethan had left.

He hardly realized Gwen had fallen to the floor. The memory had been so intense. So vivid. She was on her hands and knees, grasping at nothing. There was nothing to hold onto. There was a pathetic dignity in her silence. Not even her sobs were heard by Julian. She concealed her lips from letting any emotion escape her. So much she wanted to shut out the noise around her. Why would he not give her at least this peace?

"You are one piece of work, Gwen. You and your mother. I never thought you could sink to her low. How could you even think of carrying out such a deed? I was happy! We all were when we thought Ethan was a Crane. He would have had such a glorious future. But you took that away from him! And you took him away from me."

She did not argue with him, even though his words were hypocritical. He himself assured her they would help her win back Ethan. She protested and refused his offer, but he was persistent. He would find a way, along with Ivy and Rebecca to strip Theresa of Ethan's love and heart. He had wanted to help her, using cruelty and malice as instruments of revenge. Nonetheless, she kept this all to herself.

"Look at you. You are rotting away with guilt. You better be."

He could not stand to look at her, yet his eyes were not taken off of her. The way she rocked back and forth, it was strange and beautiful. Her hands rubbed the spots he had dug into with his own fingertips. He hovered above her, tortured by the idea of giving her aid. A simple embrace of reassurance. She had not seen him lower to her level, his knees almost touching hers. The pain was consuming her. It was so obvious. But the memory of a 6-year old Ethan was far too intense. And the loss.

"You better suffer. You better."

He had let the door shut behind him when he was done. The only thing Gwen was left with was the markings of his hands and the sound of running tap water.


End file.
